Chapter 1: Warm

Sirius was cold, and it was James' fault.

If it weren't for James, he could be sitting in his flat right now, watching trash reality television and making headway on some commissioned paintings that were already far behind schedule. He could be warm and comfortable, but instead he was cold and irritated as he shivered his way down the snow-drenched streets of London, on his way to pick up some stupid recipe book for his stupid best friend.

The stupid best friend in question had barged into Sirius' room in their shared flat at six in the morning, waking him from a very restful sleep to demand, cajole, and beg Sirius to get out of his very nice bed and venture out into the freezing London air.

Sirius had not been pleased.

He had been, very decidedly, Not. Pleased.

His irritation had only grown after James revealed to him the reason for the early morning panic.

"I need you to go buy me a recipe book for my date tonight."

"James," he had said, voice perched precariously on the border between reasonable and enraged, "What do you need a recipe book for. You own a restaurant. Which you cook at. Why am I awake?!"

James, whose own voice was firmly rooted in the country of desperation, hurriedly explained that, "I know, I know, but Lily finally agreed to go out with me and I said I'd cook for her, and this has to go perfectly or she won't go out with me again so I need to make something amazing and this recipe book is my best bet."

"Okay," Sirius had replied, still barely containing his frustration; "Let's say I go along with this ridiculous idea of yours that any of the thousands of recipes you already know are not enough, and only this one particular cookbook will do - and let's say we ignore the fact that Evans clearly likes you, and has for ages - why does this involve me?"

Here James had run a hand through already disastrous hair, before rushing out, "because I need you to go get it for me because I have to go to the restaurant and clean everything before Lily gets there."

Now, Sirius loved James, he really did - he had taken Sirius in after he decided he couldn't stand one more second sharing a house with the pure-blooded snakes he had for a family; he was the best friend Sirius could have asked for and more like a brother to him than his actual sibling - but Sirius had come very close to strangling him that morning.

That was James for you; he could dodge bludgers and hex Slytherins without breaking a sweat (although, admittedly, the latter was no longer the frequent occurrence it had once been), but the second Evans got involved, he collapsed into this anxious puddle of nonsense. He'd already obsessed over this menu for days, and had apparently decided to go with the option that would most inconvenience Sirius.

But he supposed he should cut James some slack; he had been pining after this girl for over a decade, now. It really was remarkable it had taken so long. She'd seemed to start warming up to him in their last years at Hogwarts, but by that point James was too worried that if he pushed her to go out with him like he had when they were younger, he'd lose all progress he'd made in getting her to tolerate him, so they'd hit the level of surprisingly good friends, and had stayed there. For years.

Years, as they'd graduated Hogwarts and all ended up in London, where James used his parents' money to open up a restaurant that catered to both muggles and wizards, and Sirius had invested the money his only decent uncle had left him to launching a small art gallery, and Evans had settled into a reporting position for the Daily Prophet.

Years, Sirius had watched as the two of them stayed friends - friends who were both obviously pining for each other, but nevertheless, just friends - until, out of the blue, Evans had confronted James at one of their weekly brunches with a wry, "Well we might as well just get on with it and go on a damned date already, don't you think?" To which, Sirius presumed, James had responded with a dropped jaw and many embarrassing stutters and probably a voice crack, before he said yes and the two of them set a date. And then James had come home, and begun to plan. Obsessively.

Sirius had, by this point, pretty much gotten over the vague distaste he'd felt for Evans in their school years (though he still refused to use her first name, as a matter of principle), but living with a frantic, nervous, excited, terrified James this past week had brought much of it rising up in him once again.

Especially now, as he walked to what was apparently the only book shop in London that carried this ridiculously obscure cookbook, cursing the fact that he and James were still woefully unaccustomed to muggle technology - despite the fact that they distributed their time almost equally between muggle and wizarding London, and that both of their business ventures catered, at least in part, to muggles. But no, they'd both remained steadfastly ignorant of the workings of a touch-tablet-phone-device-thing, and so James could not use the clouds to purchase an eee-book copy.

And off course, all this had happened on the day Sirius' bike was in the shop.

So he was walking, and he was cold, and while a more reasonable person might have pointed out he could have just apparated to the bookstore, or used a warming charm, it would have been a useless endeavor - because Sirius felt like pouting, and so he was.

This was the mood that carried him all the way to the steps of Moony's New and Used Books. It was a quaint establishment, tucked between a cafe and a stationary shop, and it looked rather welcoming, despite the odd name. More importantly, though - it looked warm. Sirius barged inside, setting off the little bell overseeing the entrance, and took just one glance around at dozens of bookshelves before making his way straight to the front desk, where he rang yet another bell that sat squarely beside a sign that read, in round, tidy handwriting, Please ring for assistance.

Better to just ask for help than spend ages trying to figure out this place's sorting system.

In response to the bell's cheerful little ding, a man's voice called out, "I'll be there in just a minute." It came from the shop's upper level, which was apparently off limits to customers, considering the No Entry sign blocking off the wooden staircase.

While Sirius waited for the stranger's 'just a minute' to pass, he looked around. The front desk was organized, with tidy stacks of books surrounding a squat computer that even Sirius could tell was not from this decade. The walls were painted in rich jewel tones and decorated with quotes about reading and the titles of various novels and names of authors, some famous and some obscure. To his left and right, there were bookshelves, but to his left there was also a cozy reading area, with plush sofas resting on cheerful rugs in front of a fireplace that was crackling steadily, for which Sirius was very grateful. There even appeared to be an electric kettle nestled on a small wooden table, accompanied by mugs, tea bags, and packets of hot cocoa. The place was, in a word, charming, and Sirius felt himself emerge out of his irritation the longer he stood inside it.

He was just beginning to consider walking over to the reading area and making himself a cup of tea, when a voice pulled his attention back to the staircase.

"Sorry for the wait," said the same voice from before, only now that voice was attached to a body, which descended the stairs, stepped around the No Entry sign, and made its way to stand in front of Sirius on the other side of the desk. "I'm Remus; how can I help you?"

Sirius decided at once that this man - Remus - had to be the owner of the bookstore, merely because he seemed to be the store, made human.

Everything about him was warm, slightly worn, and soft, from the oversized brown jumper that hung loosely on his thin frame, to his slightly tired, but still cheerful, smile, to the pleasant roundness of his voice, to the glow of his amber eyes.

Faint scars lined his face, and heavy bags seemed permanent fixtures below his eyes, but Sirius knew without thinking that he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen - so of course he was the one responsible for this place, and Sirius said as much.

"Are you the owner?"

Remus' tired smile grew just barely. "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Sirius replied, setting into an easy smile of his own. "Wasn't sure what to expect, given the name of the place."

That elicited a small chuckle from the other man, revealing a slight overbite. The noise stirred something in Sirius' gut.

"Yes, I can see how a name like Moony's might give one pause. It's a bit of an... inside joke, you could say." There was a cautious weight to the words that intrigued Sirius, and he might have asked for details, but Remus straightened up and continued speaking before he got the chance - which was probably a good thing. There was something about this man that was making Sirius forget they were complete strangers who'd met two seconds ago.

"Anyway, what can I help you with?"

And with that, Sirius remembered why exactly he was here.

"I'm looking for a cookbook? It's called..." he riffled through his pocket for the paper James had scrawled the book's information on, and rattled it off to Remus, who cocked his head slightly in response.

"Yes, I'm fairly certain I have that in stock. Follow me?"

And Sirius did, trotting along behind him past the reading area and into the back of the shop, where Remus scanned the shelves and quickly picked out the book in question. Which had to be one of the largest damn books Sirius had seen in his life; Jesus, James.

"Interesting choice," Remus commented. "In need of some new recipes?"

"It's for my best mate," Sirius replies with an exaggerated eye roll. "He's got a date tonight and is panicking."

"Ahh, I see." Remus' eyes twinkled with wry amusement. "Kind of you to pick it up for him."

And Sirius would have responded - perhaps with a joking, "Well, you know, he's helpless without me," or a dramatic, "Yes, I'm an angel," or a put-upon, "He's lucky to have me," or perhaps all three - but the way Remus' eyes were dancing with humor and mystery made all his words stick in his throat, and he merely shrugged and said nothing.

Now, Sirius knew he was gay. He'd know it for years, he was proud of it, and he didn't try to hide it. Not anymore. Not since his snitch of a little brother told his devil-spawn parents about how he'd seen Sirius snogging a bloke in an empty classroom, and they'd beaten him so black and blue that by the time they were finished and he managed to get away with nothing but one shoe, his wand, and the clothes on his back, he was almost unrecognizable. That was the night he left that place forever, and also the night he found his real home with the Potters. He was thankful for that night, if anything - but he'd never hide again.

So he knew who he was, and he knew he was attractive, and he was no stranger to men - but something about Remus, something beautiful and battered and warm, was making him forget years of cocky smiles and lazy grins, of kissing strangers and mornings after.

Faced with Remus, whose last name was still unknown, Sirius felt like he was stranded in unfamiliar territory, and he couldn't apparate out.

He wasn't sure if he'd want to if he could.

"Is there anything else I can help you with," Remus asked, with only a slightly raised eyebrow to indicate Sirius had been silent for just a little too long.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain some of his bearings, and said, "No, just the book, thanks."

Remus nodded and handed the book to him. Sirius balked a little at its weight, and the familiar feeling that rose within him of amused exasperation with James helped him pull himself to more familiar ground.

"If that's all, follow me to the front desk and I can ring you up."

Of course, it would have been too much to hope the rest of the interaction could go smoothly.

"Alright, your total will be £90-" (Jesus Christ, James) "-...Ms. Evans."

Sirius paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Remus' face was inscrutable.

"Lily Evans. That's the name on the card."

Another pause. Then Sirius cursed.

"Merl- Jesus Christ, James," he muttered, remembering halfway through that Remus was a muggle, and it was best not to speak of the facial hair of ancient wizards in front of muggles (and especially not in front of adorable ones).

"Sorry, just give me a sec."

Remus' face was still mostly inscrutable, though perhaps it held a touch of amusement, as Sirius rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his phone.

Now, Sirius was not skilled with muggle devices, but some proficiency with a phone had proved necessary when he decided to set up his gallery in muggle London, so he knew enough to be able to pull up James' contact and dial.

James picked up immediately, so at least he didn't have to stand awkwardly in front of Remus, who was now studiously looking in other directions as though to provide Sirius with some sense of privacy. It wasn't very effective.

"Sirius, is something wrong?" came James' panicked voice out of the little box. "Do they not have the book? The lady voice in the phone said they had the book. Or is it-"

"James, shut up and listen." When the other side went quiet, Sirius said, with strained patience, "They have the book. But I need you to explain to me why I have Evan's credit card."

Horrified silence.

"What?"

"The card you gave me to pay for the book - which is £90, by the way, bloody hell - is under Evan's name."

No response came, but Sirius heard the frantic ruffling of loose objects before a whispered, "oh no."

"James?" But that was met only with hushed curses, so he tried again. "What, James?!"

"Well I think - when I stopped by Lily's office, yesterday, and we went out for coffee like always-"

"How are you two not dating already, my God."

"Well, she went to use the loo, and both our cards were on the table, and I think I may have... grabbed the wrong one?"

Sirius ran an aggravated hand through his hair.

"Bloody Hell, James!"

"It's not my fault! They all look the same!"

Sirius would have responded with some clever quip about the differences between the little plastic cards muggles used for money... but he really couldn't tell between them either. Merlin's Beard, he and James had to get better at muggle things. This was getting to be ridiculous.

Instead, he just decided to rescue James for the hundredth time that day. "Alright, you prat, just call Evans and tell her you think your cards got switched up. She probably already knows at this point and is just waiting to see what you do. I think I have some cash on me I can pay with - but you will pay me back, I am not spending £90 on a recipe book you don't even need."

"Yes, yes, I'll pay you back, I have to go call Lily now thank you so much Sirius bye."

And then James hung up.

"Bloody tosser," Sirius muttered as he turned back to the front desk, and to Remus, who was looking extremely amused at this point.

"I take it I shouldn't charge the book to this card?"

And somehow Remus' amusement made the whole ridiculous thing seem amusing, and Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"No, you really shouldn't. Here, let me just..."

Once again, Sirius ruffled through his pockets, and pulled out his muggle wallet (leaving his pouch of wizarding money tucked deeply away). He counted the bills he had, and came up with... £50. Wonderful.

"Oh for crying out loud," he muttered, feeling the beginnings of a migraine set in. This was too much excitement for a Saturday morning.

"Is there a problem?"

Sheepishly, Sirius grimaced at the warm man, who probably thought Sirius was entirely ridiculous at this point.

"My idiot friend gave me the wrong card to pay with, and I don't have my own on me, and I've only got fifty quid."

One of Remus' eyebrows cocked up while Sirius spoke, but he hadn't the faintest idea what that meant. Huffing out a sigh, he decided to just go for it.

"Look, I know this whole thing must seem utterly ridiculous, but my friend is finally going out with a girl he's been pining after for more than a decade now and he's insanely panicked about it, and he's set his mind on making her something from this book - I know you've got no reason to believe me right now, but I swear I'll come pay you the rest of the money; if there's anyway you can cut me some slack-"

It was a long shot, and Sirius knew it. He didn't expect this all too familiar stranger to do anything but glare at him and kick him out of the shop - which is why he was very surprised when Remus said, "Don't worry about it."

"...I'm sorry?"

Remus' answering chuckle was low.

"I'll take the fifty now, and you can have the book. £90 is a ridiculous price anyway."

Sirius didn't quite know how to respond. Seeming to sense this, Remus continued. "Of course, if you feel you should pay me back, you're free to come in anytime we're open - I'm almost always here."

There was something in how he said that that made Sirius think that Remus wasn't saying everything - but also that maybe, one of those things he wasn't saying was that he wouldn't mind if Sirius was to come back some time.

"Yeah, alright... I'll drop by. With the rest of the money."

"Well, that's settled then." And with that Remus accepted the £50, and handed Sirius the book.

"Thank you for this, really," Sirius said. And he meant it.

Remus smiled that tired, cheerful smile.

"I hope your friend's date goes well. Until next time, Mr...?"

"Sirius. My name is Sirius." He didn't give his last name because he didn't want to think about his family - not now - and also because there was something about Remus that demanded familiarity, and not the cold distance of a Mr. placed in front of his name.

"Until next time, Sirius."

It had begun to snow at some point when Sirius was inside the bookstore, and had to have been colder now than ever - but as Sirius exited the shop, he didn't feel the cold at all.

In fact, for all of the walk home, past the storefront windows and through the snow-draped streets -

he felt like an amber-colored flame.